Glare of a Hacker
by MochaCocaFan
Summary: Whenst considering the horrors of Wammy's, the first and second of both generations are considered. What about the third, the elusive Mail Jeevas? The hacker who died like a loyal dog, protecting the best dresser to the end.


Matt hates L.

This is not something he tells anyone or lets any sign out of. This is not one of those things he'll casually let fly in a half-conversation with Mello, followed by an _or whatever_. This is one of those things he keeps secret, hiding, so deep in his psyche he knows he shouldn't have it sometimes, but at the same time he knows he should.

Because L deserves to die.

L is the reason Mello has never been able to love himself even slighly, and Matt hates him for it. Because Matt loves Mello, despite the seemingly submissive guise of _or whatever_ he throws over everything and anything he does. He loves Mello so much it hurts, and as much a masochist as he is Matt just wants Mello to be happy. Sure, he'd love some love back, but knows enough about life as the son of a Latina-Lebanese go-go dancer and cooker in Las Vegas who died of brain cancer that love isn't always returned.

And Matt is fine with that- or, at least, he can tolerate that. For now.

Because Mello has a strange sort of friendship with Matt. Sometimes he will seem indomitably furious at the redhead for no discernible reason, and Matt will not be able to breathe. And then sometimes he will seem suddenly happy and lovingly affectionate with Matt, which again constricts Matt's breathing, because, oh God, he loves Mello with all his black bitter rotting heart, but he knows the periods of love and reciprocation can't last. And that hurts like fucking hell. It is a white-hot poker driven up his urethra, an icy-cold pear of anguish suddenly opened up in his throat, a violent agony that feels as if he's in a glass cage that is molded to him exactly, but squeezing _just a little bit tighter_. Matt wants to not have that pain, so desperately so, but he can't stand the thought of never having that soaring high that he gets when Mello glances through his Russian hair and smiles, and Mary Mother of Jesus it hurts, it hurts, it hurts to know that the one thing Matt lives for above all else is transient.

And another reason why Matt hates L: he gets far more of Mello's thoughts than he _ever _will. No matter if Mello hates or adores Matt, whichever phase, he always pays little attention to Matt. He ignores his stalking admirier so much that Matt always wonders if it's on purpose or not. He can never decide and therefore gets stuck in the debate until he wants to bash his head in on that crucifix Mello has above his bed- the one that adds to Matt knowing that he is woefully inadequate for Mello, and L and religion are enough.

Because Matt is jealous as hell of L, of that mysterious gothic letter on the computer screen, of the synthesized voice and silent locked door. L gets Mello's love _always_, and Matt never. Matt rages internally for weeks on end, volcanic wrath keeping him awake and oozing into his dreams as he thinks in loops. _He_ is the one that gives Mello chocolate bars, he is the one that cleans and disinfects his self-inflicted wounds of low self-esteem, he is the one that reassures Mello, to deaf ears every time, that yes, he is better than Near, and yes, the albino brat must have cheated while silently wondering why everybody except him gets all Mello's attention.

Sometimes, Matt just wants to kill himself, if only so that he could glimpse the look of Mello's face as he walked in- and oh God, what expression would it be? Horrified? Shocked? Triumphant? Matt thinks particularly hard about that last expression. He can oh-so-easily imagine that Mello actually hates him, and this is a convoluted way of slowly killing Matt while never holding a smoking gun.

Occasionally, Matt thinks bitterly to himself that if he really wants Mello's attention he'd just skip ahead and take Near's place.

Because, you see, Matt is at once terrified of Mello's gaze and desperate for it. He wants to be noticed and left alone. He wants to kiss and cuddle and _fuck,_ and he wants to huddle alone in their shared room and play Super Mario. He wants Mello to love him, and he's scared to death that he will. It is a paradox, a torturous Mobius strip that he wants to stop and get off but is addicted to. Matt's mother was a meth junkie- Matt had found his tweak too.

So he smokes to relieve the agony for a couple seconds and because it apparently gets Mello hot and bothered, as he learned when Mello actually begun to notice him. It started slow, so strange and perfect that Matt would take off his gloves when it came time to put out the deathstick and mash it into the epidermis covering his phalanges, and every time it hurts very real. It is a dream and a nightmare in one, a slasher romance. It is _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ and _Pride and Prejudice_ together, and Matt is irresistibly drawn to the deadly combo.

He wants to run and stay, to kiss and kill and cry and kick Mello, and he can't decide if he wants to laugh with surreal melancholy or deeply ecstatic joy. He gets sex, and oh how amazing sex is. It is a filthy thing that should be saves for someone you love and better than crack and E and speed all at once. Mello is heroin, the needle in Matt's arm, and he gazes at his own track marks with half a corner of his mouth twisted in macabre amusement and the other half bitten raw and bleeding from sobbing anxiety.

Matt has heard it said that he has an addicited personality, that everything always has to be an obsession to him, and he wholeheartedly agrees. When he hacks, he curses and screams and viciously chainsmokes as much as he can for as long as he needs, and wants nothing to do with computers and luminescent screens when it's all over. A minute without a cigarette is a minute stolen, a fact he makes abundantly clear to everyone around him except Mello. And still his greatest addiction is those black eyes and blond hair and Slav features, and Matt feels worth something only when Mello smiles and his scars disappear slowly, fading into the skin where they should be, only to be gone. When Mello smiles, the world stops. When Mello glares, the world ends. And when Mello rolls over and bites sexily into a chocolate bar, the world implodes for infinity.

So the next time Matt sees the gothic L on the screen and hears one word of that hated voice, he clenches his gloves fist and punches the laptop head on, smattering glass onto his jeans and ever-striped shirt and goggles to hide the tears, and blood flows out like a dam's been broken and Ragnarok is upon them, but Matt smiles and doesn't care. Because this time, it's his blood, not Mello's.

And that is why Matt hates L.


End file.
